Green for envy
I am suffocatingly jealous of such people - synesthetes, they're called; viz., this lady who spent most of her life thinking that during orchestral performances, the concert hall lights were dimmed so that when the music was playing, people could see the colours emanating off the players. I imagine experiencing Bach or Rachmaninoff or Ravel visually, seeing the sound well in my eyes like a spilled painting. Such frustrated imaginings are the only thoughts that could tarnish my experience of music, as though one had to content oneself with the sweetest fruit in this world, in the knowledge that elsewhere, inaccessibly, there existed sweeter.